


A Million to One

by Flick262



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, The War of the Worlds - H. G. Wells
Genre: Alternate History, F/M, NEED SOMEONE TO DRAW THESE IDEAS DAMMIT!!!, Original Characters - Freeform, PRETTY PLEASE!!, Very detailed fictional society, almost no smut, fun history, looking for an artist URGENTLY!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flick262/pseuds/Flick262
Summary: In 1890 the Martians invaded Earth, in 1940 Earth invaded Mars. Humanity has never been the same. Told from the views of people (and aliens) on the ground, this is a compiled history of Humanity from the Martian invasion and leading up to the Shepherd's Sacrifice and perhaps beyond. (originally Published on Fanfiction.net)





	1. Chapter 1

(song references: The Chances of Anything Coming from Mars, War of the Worlds)

It is hard to say where this story begins.

Did it start with that fateful day on Eden Prime, or was it earlier?

Did it start with Shepherd's birth or the violent confusion of First Contact?

Or does the beginning go back further, to the day Humanity's eyes were opened and the wonders of space were thrust upon them.

We shall start, dear reader, with a clear summers morning in 1890, in the village of Horsell on the Outskirts of London.

Any Child's history text book will tell you of the Martian invasion, of those dreadful and horrific months where the fate of Britain, her empire and the world teetered on the brink of extinction. They will tell you of how the Martians were defeated, not by the might of the British Forces, or the fortitude of the British People, but by the merest of microbes and bacteria.

However, it was only after the Martians had gone, that the world truly began to change.

Europe, Russia, and America had watched the devastation from afar with interest, their eyes turned to the vast British Empire, but their greed was discouraged by the remaining and relatively undamaged strength of the Royal Navy and the determination of the British garrisons.

Out of all these nations, only one country leant aid to Britain. The newly formed nation of Germany, headed by its powerful, and cunning Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, extended the hand of friendship to her cousin Britain.

With German help, Britain was back on her feet within a year, but much had changed. In the confusion of the Martian invasion, Britain's long-time rival France, seeing her channel ports flooded with refugees, decided to use this as the moment to expand. Sending forces from Algeria, French units quickly bypassed British forts in Egypt and captured the Suez Canal. When the re-established British Government demanded the return of the gateway to the Indian Ocean, France threatened the lives of the British refugees unless Britain withdrew all claims of ownership on the Canal.

As the Negotiations continued, Britain and Germany quietly prepared and in the winter of 1893 France was attacked, British forces, supported by the Royal Navy and the newly established Royal Airship Corps landed on the Coast of Brittany, liberating most of the internment camps the French had created to house the refugees, The Germans, using a similar tactic to the Franco-Prussian conflict a few decades earlier were able to quickly surround Paris before linking up with British Forces in Northern France.

With the tables now turned, France was forced to withdraw all her forces from Africa, where upon Egypt was reoccupied by the British and Algeria was placed under German Control. In the Treaty of Cherbourg, the nation of France was split into three, Germany occupying most of eastern France and gaining useful naval bases on the northern French coast while Britain took control of the Western coast of France. The French government retained control of a thin strip running the length of France, her military was greatly reduced to only 100,00 troops and limited cavalry and artillery while her overseas possessions were divided between Britain and the burgeoning German Empire.

While all this was occurring, the newly created Ministry of Martian Affairs was stockpiling the Martian Technology which had been left on Earth and, with the finest minds Britain could produce, was frantically looking for a way to make the inhuman technology theirs, to harness the terror of the Heat ray and the black dust, to create their own tripods and flying ships.

The first secret to be recovered was the secret of flight, realised with Lieutenant Roger Hammerwell R.N. being the first man to take flight in a Sopwith Saucer in 1896

Within five years the Royal Air Fleet was christened. Martian technology allowed for ships the size of ironclads to be launched into the air and to fly and in 1905 the first Air Dreadnought, "The Thunderchild II" was launched into the sky over Dover.

The first land dreadnoughts were launched a year later. These monstrous land iron clads moved on six articulated legs like Martian tripods with the largest carrying the armament of a full dreadnought and the smallest being small two-legged scout pods equipped with maxim machine guns crewed by a single pilot.

Throughout the first decade of the 20th century Germany and Britain maintained their relationship while the rest of the world looked on with concerned and envious eyes. Britain shared much (but not too much) of their new-found technology with their German friends but slowly the relationship began to sour, spies were caught by both sides, Germany accused Britain of hiding technology and Britain retaliated by accusing Germany of spying on military secrets. In 1912 a British corvette was sunk by a German mine in the North Sea and as the situation deteriorated politicians scrambled to prevent full blown war.

It was in the summer of 1912 as the clouds of war loomed on the horizon that Britain had a rude awakening. The morning of the 16th of June 1912 dawned just like any other, but at 10 o'clock a mighty explosion shook London. Northern Separatists had smuggled and detonated explosives deep beneath the newly built Martian reactor power station at Chelsea killing hundreds. The Capital was thrown into chaos as power was cut across the city, with initial belief being it was German Sabotage riots broke out across the nation. Only when the attackers handed themselves in to Scotland Yard was the truth finally reported and Britain realised the darkness in her borders.

In their rush to make use and profit of the Martian technology, the great industrial centres in the North of England and Scotland had all been automated leaving hundreds of thousands out of work and starving. The Government, not appreciating the seriousness of the issue merely ignored the reports and supressed the news coming to the rest of the country.

The ensuing scandal forced a new election as the nation struggled to find a way to care for its workers. Finally, a solution was reached, the use of Martian technology was restricted to only vital positions in factories and the new government promised to subsidize the factory owners until economic stability had been achieved.

By this time the British people were no longer interested in war and the situation with Germany could be resolved peacefully.

Then in 1914, the British cracked both the secret of the heat ray and space flight.

The British had, right from the moment the last Martian tripod had fallen, had been searching for a way to take the fight to the Martians and with this breakthrough, the British and German militaries formed a combined space program named the Coalition Astronomical Force. Separate from national militaries, the C.A.F. had its own training, uniforms, insignia, and equipment. Officers and General staff wore Prussian based uniforms of Dark Royal Blue with silver trim and standard peaked caps, the crest of the C.A.F. on the left shoulder, while front line marines, pilots and sailors wore simple khaki, red and black jumpsuits, or British based Battle Dress. It was further decided that while personnel would have to be bi-lingual, commands and conversation would be in English and official documentation would be in German.

With National HQs in both London and Berlin, it was decided to place the main headquarters of the C.A.F. in the Commonwealth nation of New Zealand while the research and construction facilities were placed in the outback of Australia, far from the prying eyes of French Nationalists, the Americans, or the Russians. Construction of the facilities was completed in 1920 and the first manned space flight occurred in 1922, a Raumpfiel class rocket, carrying commodore William Code of the Royal Air Fleet and Kaptun Whilem Kofter of the Imperiale Luftkriegskraft,

this first successful flight caused a flurry of concern in the corridors of Washington and Moscow.

In Moscow the Tsar still held to his power, though tempered by the Duma government.

With Space flight now achieved, more flights were planned and in 1925 construction was slowly started on the first space station, known to all as simply "Station 1".

The roaring twenties boomed across the world as two nations struggled to bring space and the Martians with in reach for revenge.

Then the great depression hit.

Even though the economies of Britain and Germany were not totally tied to America, their economies still suffered. Even with three space space stations and a space dry dock completed, budget cuts caused difficulites with construction of the Imperial Space Fleet.

It wasn't until 1935 that full scale military preperation resumed. In Germany, communist riots and attacks began in earnest while Britain (who had kept her eyes to the sky since the invasion) spotted Martian Cylinders bound for Earth a second time. While rockets launched from silos on the Isle of Wight succeeded in destroying the cyclinders, the panic caused around the world showed that something must be done.

Germany had managed to crush the uprising by late 35 and with Britain began earnest construction of a joint space fleet.

Thanks to increased funding and drastic recruitment, the First Solar Expeditionary Force or the S.E.F. was ready to go by 1940, it consisted of three fleet carriers, 14 cruisers, 36 destroyers, over 80 troop carriers and support ships as well as six dreadnought class vessels, headed up by the flag ship the H.D.S. (Humanities Defence Ship) Gotterdamurung.

Due to construction during the late thirties the ships were able to get to Mars in a matter of weeks instead of months thanks to a magnetic relay built on the moon, this relay, using simple magnetic rail gun technology went around the moon five times, enabling even the largest vessels to work up enough speed to be catapaulted towards Mars across the voids of space.

However, when Mars of reached, it was discovered that not only were the martians just as strong as remembered, they were ready and waiting.

The ensuing conflict lasted 7 years, during which time almost 20% of the male population of both Germany and Britain was killed. Finally in 1947, the last Martian stronghold fell and humanity claimed victory.

It was in the immediet aftermath of the final battle that a discovery was made that would change everything...

"C'mon you lazy buggers! Move!" The sergants were bellowing to the blood-stained and distinctly thinned ranks of marines. "There's tunnels there need clearing!, check your 'rays and make sure your filters stay bloody well clear!"

Private William "Bob" Green traded a glance with his friend Private Klaus Becker as they wordlessly checked each others heatray rifles and mask filters. They had been amoung the lucky ones to survive the final storming of the Martian vault and neither of them were too happy about pushing their luck any further down in the tunnels. "Come on men!" came the call from their last surviving officer, a fresh faced (not that you could tell through his helmet) young twit of a lieutenant by the name of Dani Schuman. The young chap had only arrived a week ago and despite the carnage was still treating war like a noble jolly game.

Bob sighed and shouldered his pack as he formed up with Klaus and the handful of survivors from his unit. The entrance of the tunnels stretched before them big enough to take two tripodes side by side. Lieutenant Schuman hoisted his heatray and lead them down the tunnels, radioing in every intersection and marking them on a geo map being generated on his Command pad, the glowing light flickering on the walls of the tunnel.

Suddenly the tunnel got a lot lower, and thinner, now it was only big enough to take a single martian science tripod, roughly 3 meteres high and 3 meters across, the tunnel continued in this vein for around a hundred meters before ending in a metal hatch.

The lieutenant made his way to the hatch and was examined it for a few minutes before beckoning on of the other marines forward. Bob had to suppress a chuckle as he saw the familier hulking shape of Corpral Robert "Bomb" O'Rouke, the units pyro maniac, a.k.a. demolitions expert.

Ten minutes later the door was blasted of its hinges and the squad burst through the dust left by the explosion, their heatrays primed and glowing.

Nothing moved

Nothing at all

Infact the only sign of life at all was the gentle hum eminating from the mass of strange green glowing pillars in the center of the rooms.

"What the hell?", murmured Klaus as their squad spread out, covering as many angles as possible.

Bob didn't say anything, prefering to keep his eye on the lieutenant as the young man made his way to a glowing screen at the base of the pillars and ran his command pad over it.

As Bod watched, the young man suddenly stiffened and tore his pad away from the screen. "Private!" he yelled to Bob, "Run back and contact the Field Marshall. This isn't Martian!"

Bob's eyes widened but as he turned to go the lieutenants voice stopped him in his tracks, "And it's talking!"


	2. Chapter Two

In the years following the discovery of the Martian Vault (as it was named), there was much debate as to the source of this windfall. The initial feeling was that it was a Martian experimental lab, but as more secrets and information were uncovered it was found that this information, in fact, came from an entirely different race altogether, called the Protheans. It was concluded that While the Martians had accessed a great deal of the vault, their focus had been solely for war-like purposes, which had ultimately lead to the extinction of their race.

It was through the vault that the C.A.F. uncovered and activated the Sol Mass Relay in 1952, and in 1953, on the day of the new Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation, the C.A.F. scout vessel, H.D.S. Orpheus with 80 souls on board became the first human vessel to travel through the Sol Relay, and so began humanity’s expansion.

Faced with the flood of new technology, and realising that between them, Britain (along with her Commonwealth) and Germany simply didn’t have the manpower to launch a colonisation of space, it was decided to add members to the C.A.F. In 1957 the Japanese Empire was invited to join due to its tight treaties with both Britain and Germany, as well as their technological prowess. This move caused two major reactions among the world’s leading powers. Russia, who had maintained an uneasy peace with the Anglo-German Coalition became eager to negotiate due to their concern regarding the expansionist policies of the Japanese.  
The United States, on the other hand, became more antagonistic and isolationist, fiercely protecting their overseas possessions. Suspicion of foreigners reached a fever pitch in 1960 when C.A.F. bases were built in Cuba, and a Good Will (Wet) fleet was dispatched from Plymouth to Havana. America prepared for war and sent their own fleet to prevent the Good Will ships from arriving. While the Navies of the Coalition were more than willing to wipe out the inferior American fleet (C.A.F. vessels were equipped with heat rays and newly-made relay cannons while American Vessels were still relying on Shells and rudimentary missiles) it was decided the Good Will Fleet would meet the American Fleet and go no further. As the Americans celebrated their apparent victory, the H.D.S. Dove came out of orbit and after collecting the G.W. (Good Will) team from the fleet, landed them at Havana Airport. This situation left the Americans (who had no successful space program) fuming resulting in the closing of the British and German embassies in Washington. 

 

By 1964 the United States was a hermit state, while Russia was beginning to be accepted in the C.A.F. 

 

1968 Marked a major milestone in Human history.   
The first Human Settlement was created on a liveable planet. The first colonial flotilla containing 1200 souls from all C.A.F. countries landed at the chosen sight of the capital city of the new planet.   
The world celebrated, and Humanity looked to the stars in hope. 

As the decades passed more and more planets and relays were discovered, more colonies were built and wealth poured into Earth. Fleets expanded, and soon the bigger colonies were building their own fleets.   
At first, these Planetary Defence Forces (P.D.F.s) were a welcome addition, leaving more C.A.F. vessels free to continue expansion. However, as these forces grew from flotillas into full blown fleets, and training was taken over by the colonies themselves, the C.A.F. began to get nervous. 

Their fears were realised in 2001 when the New Albion P.D.F. blockaded another minor colony in hopes of gaining control. C.A.F. demands for an immediate withdrawal were ignored and the C.A.F. dispatched a small fleet as a show of force which was immediately wiped out upon arrival.   
Sensing blood in the water several more colonies declared independence and attempted to form a separatist movement. The C.A.F., despite being in a position to wipe out the separatists was bogged down by the legal ramifications and the fact that P.D.F. forces were still counted as “Civilian”. It was only in 2006 when the C.A.F. Colonial Administration Centre in Articus Station was bombed, resulting in the death of over 1000 personnel and the loss of Colonial records when the bomb blew open the outer wall of the station, that the separatists were branded as terrorists and military action was approved.

Despite the great strength of the C.A.F. (Now consisting of the combined strength of Britain, the Commonwealth, Germany and her Empire, Russia, and the Japanese Empire) it still took eleven years to completely quash the Separatists, and it was still a further 40 years before separatist terrorist cells ceased attacks. 

The Systems War as it became known resulted in numerous reforms both in the C.A.F. and back home on Earth. The C.A.F., upon rebuilding Articus Station in 2053, declared that instead of a Colonial Administration Centre, that the station would now host and Colonial Parliament made up of a single representative from each Colony. This declaration was met with jubilation within the colonies themselves and with muffled approval from Earth.  
Faced with the new Colonial Parliament and growing pressure from their own populations, the German and Japanese Empires Followed Britain’s earlier example and declared themselves Commonwealths before beginning major economic and political reforms ensuring the nations under their influence were in a suitable position to flourish under their own governments. This also lead to the Frencherendum where Britain and Germany held a referendum among the people of occupied France to see if they wanted to reunite with Free France. The results were mixed but the referendum began the process of reuniting France who declared total Unification on the 12th of October 2074 when the last border fences came down.   
After the tumultuous decades of the mid-21st century, Humanity entered a new age of cooperation. Things weren’t perfect but for 70 years’ humanity continued to expand and advance. Relays and FTL technology made colonisation of space much easier and combined Mass Effect technology, Human ingenuity and Martian Technology caused advances Humanity would not have even dreamed of even a century ago. Heat rays were made more powerful, giving Frigates the power to melt through cruisers armour. Soldiers and police were equipped with Martian anti-gravity technology enabling short range flight and the ability to jump to tremendous heights. Sky cars filled the air of cities throughout human space. 

 

But peace never lasts dear reader, but this peace was shattered from a very unexpected direction.

Right from the very first days of space travel, Humanity had been expecting to encounter aliens around every corner, the memories of the terror of Martian occupation still fresh for many.   
But over a century and a half of endless space had softened this view. There were even groups of Humans that believed that there might not be any actual aliens left out there, the Humanity and the Martians had been the last ones left. 

This idea was crushed at Shanxi. 

The colony at Shanxi had originally been established as a farming colony, producing wool, grain, and meat for export along with small amounts of minerals from a small mining company set up on the Northern continent. However, due to the discovery of another mass relay in the same system, the decision was made to create an orbital dry dock and supply base as well which in turn warranted a defence flotilla and the formation of Planetary Defence Force along with a Garrison of C.A.F. troops. 

Once all preparations were made a squadron of frigates under the Command of Commodore Alfred Majors, a veteran of anti-piracy operations and a capable commander, it was him that lead flotilla 4895 through the relay and into this history book. 

 

Quintus Harranus looked up from his one-tool as the general alarm blared through the ship. “Tarc!” he cursed turning back to the face on his screen, “Sorry sis I have to run!”   
His sister laughed, her mandibles flaring, “Go get ‘em Quin!” she chirped, “Have fun being a good little soldier!”  
Quintus scowled, he hated it when his sister mentioned his height. “I’ll deal with you later!” she mocks growled. His sister merely laughed again and cut the connection.   
Quintus jammed on his boots, the alarm still blaring in his aural canals as a group of Lancers thundered past his door towards the hanger bay. “What on Palaven?” wondered the young engineer as he hurried towards the bridge. “Why is everyone armed?”. 

Having graduated the top of his unit in computer and electronic engineering, following basic training he had been sent to be the bridge engineer on the cruiser Hexalus, out on anti-piracy and slavery patrol. He’d been out here for three months now and apart from helping find Lieutenants Septimus’ lucky amulet he had done stuff all.   
He burst through the bridge doors and immediately spotted two distinct things that may or may not be related. Firstly, the Bridge was in emergency lighting and was almost silent, the officers moving with quick, purposeful, and silent motions between stations. Comms specialists had their eyes glued to their screens and the weapons officers were hunched over their consoles.   
The Second thing he noticed, was the Relay looming through the Bridge Window was beginning to fire up. “Oh TARC!!!!”

“Sir!” snapped a young officer, “Somethings coming through the Relay!”  
“Ready main Armament Sullus” snapped Captain Xerus  
“Yes Sir, Main Cannons are ready, Shields at full strength.”  
“Then Spirits guide us, everyone.” 

 

Quintus watched as first one then five small alien-looking ships seemed to pop into existence before them.   
The Ships were tiny, no bigger than a frigate, and unlike most pirate or slaver ships he was used to, were made up of smooth, sleek lines looking almost Asari in design, expect these ships didn’t fit any Asari designs he knew of.   
Like Turian ships they had the engines on the back and in two “wings” at the back of the ship, but unlike Turian Vessels, there were two smaller wings at the front of the vessels and no visible armament. He wouldn’t mind meeting whoever designed these ships; they looked very manoeuvrable. 

“Sir” a weapons tech called, “Scans reveal mass effect technology, they have shields but no apparent armament.”   
“Really?” Xerus narrowed his eyes, “never heard of Pirates not having weapons, it has to be a trick! Fire a warning salvo and then hail them, tell them to deactivate their shields and prepare to be boarded.”

Quintus kept his eyes glued to the comms officer as she began to attempt to hail the strange vessels.  
The vessels in question had been drifting together just out of range but when the Turian signals began to broadcast they had immediately assumed a defensive wedge shape. 

“Sir there’s no response on any of the normal Channels!” exclaimed the Comms officer after ten minutes, “Am attempting to try…”  
The young officer was interrupted by a sudden barrage of sound, the bridge flooding with a strange fleshy, wet sound. The crew started and some were covering their ears before the volume was lowered.   
“What Spirits forsaken language is that?” hissed Quintus to the officer beside him. The pretty, young Turian shook her head in ignorance and continued to stare at her screen attempting to understand the myriad of strange symbols whizzing past. 

“Captain! The enemy is moving!” came a shout. Sure, enough one of the strange frigates was beginning to make its way back towards to mass relay.  
“Fire a warning shot!” snapped the Captain, “Don’t let them escape!”  
Half a second later, one of the ship board cannons sent a shot hurtling through space.  
Unfortunately, due to the simple fact that the Turians had no idea how fast a C.A.F. Frigate could move, had based their firing calculations of Turian Frigate speeds, meaning that the shot, instead of whizzing in front of the strange vessel, slammed into the shields causing them to be severely damaged and creating a hull breach in the Ships engineering bay.

In an instant, things went from tense to downright shitty. 

The moment the shot hit their friend, the strange ships snapped forward, splitting up and closing the distance between them and the Cruiser alarmingly quickly. Quintus and the Bridge crew stared dumbstruck as thick green glowing beams of light lanced from the front of the ships. The Hexalus shuddered and listed sharply as a beam cut one of the engine wings clean off. Emergency sirens began blaring as the Hexalus struggled to return fire. A lucky shot disabled another enemy Frigate sending it drifting through space. Quintus was hurled through the open bridge door as an explosion rocked the ship. The sirens abruptly changing from action stations to abandon ship. Quintus hurried back to the bridge as fast as he could on the listing deck, artificial gravity had failed and the resulting chaos was making evacuation almost impossible. Quintus grabbed an unconscious body and made his way to the Bridge escape pods, those who were still alive helping those who were injured.

The attractive young comms specialist from earlier was still at her desk, her helmet and armour sealed as she struggled to send an emergency broadcast on Hierarchy channels calling for aid.  
Quintus manoeuvred his unconscious charge into an escape pod and turned calling to her to follow him. 

An enemy frigate whizzed past the window as he sealed his helmet and struggled to make his way over to her and grabbed her arm. “Come on you stiltu!” he yelled above the din of the dying ship. She shook her head and was looking like she was going to punch him when the bridge window shattered and they were sucked into the void.

 

Quintus was never more grateful for his strong stomach than this precise moment. Here he was holding on to a very pissed comms officer who was still trying to punch him, his ship had just been blown to pieces by enemies unknown and he was free-wheeling in space and was still spinning.  
A solid piece of wreckage stopped his uncontrolled spin and might or might not had knocked some sense into his unwilling companion as she was sandwiched between him and the wreckage and was decidedly still.   
Quintus held on to that wreckage for what seemed like hours, turning his head every now and again to see if he could spot reinforcements or even any sign of life. He did see an escape pod hurtling away from the wreckage but otherwise all he could see was floating wreckage and his oxygen levels steadily dropping.   
As his air levels reached the red and he resolved himself to a spacers death, he spotted a movement to his left. He turned and his stomach clenched. A strange looking shuttle was making its way towards his position. It was painted in Deep Blood Blue, Black and Rich Red colours. A crest was stamped on the nose as the sides as it drifted mere meters away. A side hatch opened and an armoured alien (a Batarian or maybe an Asari?) reached out to him. Quintus recoiled, he knew that crest. It was the same one on the strange Frigates.   
The alien just kept holding their hand out. Looking straight at him. 

Ultimately it was the dead weight of the specialist in his arms that decided him. She adjusted his grip on her and pushed of the wreckage sending them both drifting towards the shuttles open door which closed behind him.

The gravity came back slowly and Quintus took the time to ensure his footing before looking around.   
There were several Turians inside the shuttle, while four of the armoured aliens stood on the other side of the shuttle. The idea they were pirates started to sound off as he looked at them, they all wore the same armour and carried the same strange looking weapons. Maybe they were mercenaries. 

In the next hour, they picked up three more Turians which made the shuttle a little crowded, the tension this caused was almost palatable as Quintus held on to his still unconscious charge as the shuttle made its way towards the nearest frigate.

As the Shuttle docked Quintus was surprised to see the hanger bay was crowded with prisoners, Captain Xerus standing tall amongst them and armoured, helmeted aliens standing around.

As the Turians from the shuttle joined their companions, a sudden shout went amongst the aliens and they snapped to attention. 

The massed Turians stared as a black armoured alien marched into the hanger bay and made their way to stand before Captain Xerus, it gestured to its wrist bringing up a blue Omni-tool looking device. The Captain lifted his own tool and in the silence of the Hanger, the ping of a received data packed echoed painfully. 

Captain Xerus opened the package and the alien spoke.   
“Welcome aboard the H.D.S. Archer.” It boomed, “I am Commodore Alfred Major a representative of Humanity!”. It reached up and removed its helmet and the massed Turians stared at the pale, pink, furry, Asari looking creature that was speaking. 

“Oh Spirits,” breathed Quintus, “We blew up new aliens!”

 

In the end, the First Contact Incident is widely considered to have gone a lot better than it should have.   
Commodore Majors' Insistence on picking up Turian survivors resulted in few Turian casualties while Human casualties from the H.D.S.s Leiden and Shuko were also light. 

After a tense week-long standoff around the relay by the C.A.F. 56th fleet and the Hierarchy's 9th fleet. A Council First Contact team arrived and Humanity was invited to join the Galactic community.

During the deliberations, The Galactic Council was amazed to discover the enormous amount of space Humanity controlled, almost as large as Turian and Asari Space Combined. They were also surprised at Humanities apparent reticence in joining the Council sphere of influence until they learnt of the Martian War.   
IN the End, after almost some two years of negotiation, it was decided that humanity would ally with the Council but would not come under Council authority. A Series of exchange programs were initiated and Prothean scholars were invited to come and examine the Prothean sites found in Human space. 

The Galaxy breathed a collective sigh of relief, Humanity, while powerful, was unwilling to enter into a prolonged conflict, and the Council was wary of this obviously martial race who destroyed a Turian Cruiser with just a handful of Frigates. 

When the celebrations of the treaty signing were over, and the galaxy began to settle down with the new race, humanity once again found itself in a new situation. Anti-alien sentiment still ran strong but these new aliens didn’t seem to be hell bent on eating anyone. That was until the settlers on Minodor woke to the Batarians and Humanities wrath was awoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hope this is enjoyable. am still looking for a Beta Reader and fan art!  
> Hope all is well


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again  
>  I am eager to hear if anyone would be interested in doing a bit of artwork for this story so that characters, scenes and technology can see the light of day so if anyone is interested, please pm me.   
> I am also thinking of looking for a Beta reader so if anyone can point me in the right direction that would be much appreciated too.  
> Anyhow, I left this on a bit of a cliff hanger last time so sorry about that. On with the show!!
> 
> The most important piece of art work I’m after is the crest of the C.A.F. which I’d like to make the story image. It has to be a combination of the British and German Royal crests, coupled with an astronomical twist

The Batarian attack on Minodor in 2158 A.D. sent shockwaves through Human Space. 

Having only recently signed treaties with the Council following the First Contact Incident, humanity had been focused on organising trade and political ties with what they thought was the ruling body of the galaxy. 

This conception was burned away in the ruins of Minodor, one of the C.A.F’s most recent colonies but still with a population of over one and a half million souls.   
The Batarians had wiped out the small defence fleet and bombarded military and government installations from orbit before sweeping in to round up the civilian population.  
The attack happened so fast that there was almost no escape. In fact, when C.A.F. forces arrived 24 hours later, only six survivors were found, the youngest being a girl of only four by the name of Jane Shepherd who had hidden in the forest at the back of her family farm as the Batarians had enslaved her family. 

Initial confusion as to the cause of the attack quickly gave way to outraged fury throughout the Galactic Commonwealth and almost lead to humanity withdrawing from relations with the Council altogether when it was found that the Batarians had enslaved the population.   
Humanity’s zero tolerance with slavery was widely promoted and was seen as a source of pride amongst the human race, leading Citadel media to question what humanities response to the Batarians’ attack would be.  
The C.A.F. surprised everyone (particularly their own public) when they first attempted a negotiation for their people. The Batarians, in their arrogance, sent back those whose bodies had rejected control chips leading them to be permanently brain damaged. The resulting outrage was watched with interest by the galactic public, who were by this time were resigned to the council’s lack of reprisals against the Batarians enslaving of their people.   
With outraged Riots across Commonwealth space, the C.A.F. decided to use this as an opportunity to not only show the Galaxy what they were capable of, but also to earn respect from the galactic public. In a matter of months several fleets including the famed 1st fleet headed by the Pride of the C.A.F. fleet the Thunderchild II (by this time the 17th Vessel to bear the name as the flagship of the 1st fleet must always bear that name) a Gotterdammerung class super dreadnought, were assembled over the remains of Minodor for the farewell celebration. Televised across the Galaxy, the Prime Minister of the Galactic Commonwealth ominously declared Humanities intention of ridding the Galaxy of the Batarian threat once and for all before inviting the Galactic Press aboard the Thunderchild to witness first-hand what the Human Fleets were capable of during the campaign.

As the fleets under the Command of First Admiral Rudolf Krammer sailed towards Batarian space, the Council made desperate efforts to prevent a full-scale war, efforts which both the Batarians and the C.A.F. ignored.   
The Galactic Public, on the other hand, looked on with interest at the images broadcast on their holo screens from their reporters aboard the Human ships. 

 

Initial skirmishes were brief and bloody, the Human fleets barely stopping to wipe out the pirate and mercenary fleets thrown against them as they approached the first star system. 

The first planetary action horrified the Council but caused great interest (and in many cases delight) amongst the Galactic Public.   
Upon defeating the local Batarian funded Pirate fleet, the C.A.F. fleets encircled planet and demanded the planetary government to deactivate all slave control chips and to surrender.   
When the inevitable refusal came back, Admiral Krammer dispatched units of the C7s (of the Commando initiative) under the command of Captain David Anderson, late of his majesty’s Royal Commandos with orders to destroy the signal array in the main military base which broadcast the termination signals for the slave control chips.   
As per their reputation, the C7s were able to successfully neutralise the control chip signals without causing any casualties amongst the planetary slave population while at the same time causing severe damage to the Main Batarian planetary defence complex. 

With no way of controlling the population of slaves and with their defences crippled, the Batarians hid many of their weapons and offered their slaves in exchange for their safety assuming that, if the humans only wanted the slaves, then not only could they just get new ones, but could also attempt to cause difficulties behind human lines.   
However, once all slaves were evacuated, Admiral Krammer stated that as slaves were not recognised as property, that the planetary population would be confined to the planet with a human blockade fleet ensuring compliance. 

This process was followed across Batarian Space, humanity quickly discovering the signal required to shut down control chips, and all the slaves who were freed were immediately shipped straight to the citadel on convoys.   
The Galactic Commonwealth Parliament donated vast sums of funds to set up organisations and medical facilities to help with the processing of so many injured and traumatised ex-slaves, many of whom had been born in captivity, still further improving their standing amongst the public.

As the Fleets moved deeper and deeper into Batarian Space, the Galactic Public saw the horrors of Batarian slavery broadcast through their screens as Millions of slaves of all species and ages were freed, when the council tried to censor the broadcasts, public outrage forced them to back down as anti Batarian feeling rose to the boiling point. Riots and revenge killings became common throughout Citadel space, even on the Citadel itself as the Fleets approached Khar’shan, the Batarian home world. 

Siena Kun’ami of “Citadel News” hurried down the grey corridors towards the Press Room. The halls and passage ways of the human vessel feeling comfortably familiar after several months.   
As she reached the door, she quickly took a moment to smooth down her dress and check her camera drone before opening the door and slipping inside.   
The two human Marines standing beside the desk smiled and swiped her I.D. allowing her to proceed into the press room properly, she hurried to take her seat between a human reporter by the name of Patrick O’Reily from the British Galactic Broadcast Corporation (B.G.B.C. or Beegee for short) and a representative from the Turian Hierarchy (The Turians didn’t have much space for “reporters”) by the name of Quintus Harranus (it was rumoured he’d been aboard the Hexalus when she had gone down at Relay 314). The Human turned to her and smiled, “Hi Siena,” he grinned nervously, “any idea what this is all about?”  
“Sorry, I have no idea Patrick” Siena smiled, “I just received a summons and here I am.”  
“Ah right, well then,” Patrick fidgeted, chewing the stylus for his pad.  
He was interrupted in his chewing by the entrance of Admiral Krammer. 

“Good morning everyone,” the Admiral stated in his usual blunt, “Oh God I hate dealing with the press, but for once you buggers are proving useful” voice. “Welcome to Khar’shan.”

The resounding silence that was caused by this statement gave the impression that only would a pin drop be distinctly heard, but it would also probably deafen those within the room.  
Admiral Krammer let this new sink in for a moment before he delivered another bombshell.   
“As this will be the final blow of the campaign, I have been authorised to allow you all onto the command bridge of the Thunderchild to ensure you have a good view. Only one camera per news agency, however, is permitted. 

The Collective sucking in of air around the room that greeted the announcement of this unprecedented opportunity made Siena wonder how it was that the human admiral wasn’t sucked off his feet.   
Looking around. However, Siena was smug to discover that out of the five or six Asari reporters in the room; she was the only one with a truly top of the line camera drone. 

Krammer’s lips twitched in what might have been a tight smile, but it was gone before Siena could fully register it. “You have half an hour to decide amongst yourselves before you will be escorted to the bridge.” He declared firmly. 

 

Half an hour of polite and restrained (but occasionally bordering of vicious) arguing later, Siena was the proud controller of the camera for the Asari (and Citadel) media. While Quintus had been given a camera drone that would Broadcast live for the Turian Hierarchy.   
As the marines came in to escort them to the Bridge, Siena couldn’t hold back a tremor of excitement, the actual bridge of humanities biggest dreadnought, a ship so big and powerful (almost five times the length and twice the width of the Destiny Ascension) that when its existence was revealed, scared the matriarchs half to death (One of the older matriarchs did have a heart attack when it was found Humanity was building five more).   
Her excitement continued all the way up in the express lift until the soft feminine voice of the ships VI announced, “Welcome to the Main Bridge” where upon the doors slide open.

What the Media never knew about Human Military ship construction, was that the Bridge was not the command centre on the larger human warships.   
Humanity had learnt quickly while facing the Martians that having your entire ship’s controls and commanding body in an easily seen glass booth on the top of the superstructure at the back (or front depending on the class of ship) of the vessel, was perhaps not the best of ideas. 

The result of these lessons was that while the “Bridge” of the ship remained the same dramatic glass-fronted affair with magnificent views of the ship (and the ship's target), the actual command centre of the ship was hidden deep within the bowls of the ship, far from the risk of a hull breech and in a solid heavily armoured box which was designed to survive a shipboard reactor explosion thereby ensuring that even if the rest of the ship was blown to buggery and back, the command centre would remain intact. 

This meant that the “Bridge” of the vessel had a lot of space. Wide sweeping windows allowed the reporters to gaze straight down the spine of the mighty ship; its nose pointed straight at the green planet ahead.

Admiral Krammer was there, standing beside a slightly short man in a Captains uniform, his hair beginning to turn grey at the edges (human hair fascinated Siena as it did much of the galaxy) and an ugly scar running across his otherwise relatively handsome face. “This,” stated Krammer introducing the Captain in question, “Is Captain Hackett.”  
The Captain nodded curtly then turned back to watch the men on the bridge hunched over their consoles.   
Right in the centre of the room sat an old wooden wheel shaped object, framed, and decorated in brass and with the words H.M.S. Thunderchild II written upon it.

“What is that thing?!” Siena whispered to Patrick, who in turn gaped at her.  
“That’s an exact copy of the ship's wheel of the original Thunderchild,” he whispered, the replica was made and first fitted aboard the first air dreadnought to bear the name in 1910 and has been handed down to every ship to bear the name since. That wheel is over 200 years old!”  
Siena arched a delicate eyebrow, being 350 meant that a 200-year old ships wheel was not that much of an important item. But she had come to realise while conducting research on human history, and talking to the human crew (those that were willing to talk that is), that the Thunderchild was a name forever engraved in the human psyche, associated with endurance, bravery in the face of impossible odds and protecting the innocent. 

Her attention was pulled from the wheel and its significance by the gravelly voice of Captain Hackett.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Batarians are sending up their prisoners.”

The news shocked Siena, Batarians giving up just like that? As she looked around, she could see disbelief written on most of the reporter's faces (admittedly the Elcor was a bit hard to read).  
But sure, enough a fleet of shuttles could be seen fast approaching.

Approaching too fast

And on the wrong vector

Hackett merely nodded to a young human ensign who turned to her screen and said one word, “fire!”  
The next second the space in front of the ship was ablaze has the Thunderchild opened with everything it had, the fleet of shuttles all but vanishing in an instant under the onslaught.

 

Hacket glared around the bridge at the dumbstruck press.  
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Batarians answer to our peace terms. They send their “slaves” to fly into our ships, thinking we will refuse to fire on ships full of slaves.”  
He hefted his omni-tool and forwarded a data-packet to everyone’s tools.   
“These ship scans prove that those shuttles had only pilots, no passengers aboard. They were full of explosives and biological agents designed to be triggered in our hanger bay.”

Siena went through the list of agents and grimaced. She’d served her time as a commando, and she’d seen what some of that stuff could do, released into the hanger bay of a ship this size would have been a disaster.

“And so,” Hacket continued, his already tight mouth growing even tighter, “We will reply.”

Around the room, holo-screens began to light up showing bridge views of every Batarian colony world now under C.A.F. control.

Hacket glowered through the bridge window at the planet below.   
“We have been broadcasting a signal to the civilian population on all Batarian planets to evacuate all military installations and cities.” He declared, “They have had six hours to comply, and intelligence suggests that despite the Hegemony attempting to block our signals, around 57.5% of the population have complied within the time we dictated.”

He turned back to face the bridge and the massed reporters, “Make sure your cameras are working for this,” he said quietly, “it should be quite a view.”

Standing straight behind the wheel of the greatest ship in the human fleet, Captain Hacket gave an order that had only been given once before in human history.  
“Execute Foxtrot Tango Alpha”

For a moment, all was still. Even the usual background hum of the ship seemed muted.

Then humanity’s revenge shook the galaxy to its core as every single city on every Batarian planet was hit by with all the strength humanity could muster.

Silence reigned on the bridge as every weapon on the Thunderchild II that could be brought to bear, thundered silently in the vacuum of space, sending obliteration down upon the heads of those still in the below.  
Projectiles rained down on Khar’shan like the tears of the countless souls enslaved upon over the centuries, the ancient streets and bastions of her founding cities turned to ash and blacked rubble under the red hot unforgiving and merciless fury of the avengers. 

The Galaxy cheered

The Council sat in horrified silence

 

And Humanity’s wrath burned hot upon the cities of Khar’shan and the planets of the hegemony

 

In the months following the Batarian Crisis (as it was referred to by Humanity) relations with the council cooled dramatically, even though the C.A.F. had ensured the survival of the Batarian race (if only in small numbers) and had returned immediately to human controlled space upon the burning of Khar’shan.

However, despite this cooling of relations with the council itself, human-Turian relations grew almost over-night. The Turians were wary of what they perceived as a grave threat to galactic peace but were also intrigued with the human war machine. Numerous exercises and exchange programs were initiated, and a Turian Embassy was established on Articus station in late 2160.

Turian involvement with humanity led to many changes in Humanities view of galactic affairs as well as leading to the official training of the first Human Biotics.

It seemed that Humanity was entering a golden age of slow but steady galactic relations, the C.A.F. was respected as a military and economic force by the galaxy, and already trade deals were being signed with the Salarian Union and the Turian Hierarchy. It seemed that Humanity might have found a place in Galactic affairs after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was interesting.  
> I do apologise for the shorter chapter this time round, the joys of writer’s block, uni and full weeks doth make things most difficult.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all like it, please remember your comments and insights are most welcome, and if any of you want to have a go at fan art, please feel free, would love to see it.    
> Pip pip and tally ho!


	4. Chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Hope everyone is alright and going well. Am still looking for an artist if anyone is keen.  
> Things are speeding up with study over here so chapters might be fewer and further between sorry.
> 
> Please please please, if any of you either want to Beta read or know someone who would want to beta read, please just ping me a message, I really need someone to talk to about this because things are going to get big in the story, and I have no one to discuss it with.

The year 2172 was a major year in the history of the galaxy.   
Ever since the Great Martian War of 1890, the governments of Earth had been united in not permitting alien life on earth. Even after first contact and the Batarian Crisis, the C.A.F. had remained steadfast in its laws of no aliens being allowed to set foot on earth or within the Sol system. 

At the same time, the Galactic Council made it clear, that while humans were permitted on the Citadel, in the face of their actions during the Batarian Crisis, an official embassy was out of the question, and no Human military vessels were to be permitted within the Veil.

This changed with the signing of the Turian-Human Alliance at Articus station. The official start of cooperation between the Turian and Human races. 

The treaty was of vital importance to both species for different reasons.   
Thousands of years of militaristic culture among the Turians meant that there were few Turians who considered such tasks as farming as honourable work meaning the Turians had been forced to trade weaponry and vessels for food stocks. As a result, the Turian economy was sinking steadily further and further into difficulties as the demand for military products dropped.   
The C.A.F. on the other-hand, was also finding itself in difficulties. With thousands of colonies to protect the C.A.F. was faced with two main problems, the first was the conducting of anti-piracy patrols, there simply were not enough men or ships even with the aid of the colony defence fleets. The other issue was trade. The Galactic Trading Company (a private trading corporation suspiciously similar to the British East India Company of the 17/1800s complete with its own fleets and defence forces) was maintaining trade, but even they were struggling to break into the Galactic market. Humans were still limited on the citadel and were not permitted an embassy. 

The Treaty of Articus decreed that a large portion of human space bordering with Hierarchy territory would convert from growing and exporting levo crops to dextro, and in return, the Turians fleets would assist in patrolling selected regions of human space. The Turians would also provide for a human embassy on the citadel and military cooperation between the two solidified. At the announcement of the treaty signing, two declarations were made that astounded Citadel media. The first, was the construction a joint Human/Turian Cruiser, the “Union”. The first ship with combined Turian/Human crew and design.   
The second thing was the C.A.F. formally inviting the Turian treaty negotiation team, along with their families, various members of the hierarchy and press to come for a formal ten day visit to earth.

 

Seilla Harranus sighed as she flopped onto her bed.  
School was boring, it wasn’t her fault that Fastus was talking during class yet she still got the blame because he was trying to talk to her.   
She shuddered, he was such a creep of a Turian, and his penchant for bullying the younger students absolutely incensed her.

She stood and made her way to her desk, her talons tapping over her datapad of homework. No sense in leaving it, “best to get it done”, as her father like to say.

Her omni-tool pinged and she opened it to see the excited face of her best friend Lania, her blue delicate face positively agleam (how did Asari manage to be so expressive without mandibles?) with excitement.   
“Have you heard the news?!!” she squealed.  
Seilla winced and lowered the volume to compensate for her friends excited tone. “Heard what?” she asked, wracking her brain for what new crush her friend must have developed.

“Humans are being allowed to live on the Citadel!” came the excited reply, “Oh some of those humans can be so damn cute!”

Seilla sighed, her mandibles fluttering in long suffering patience.   
“Lania, come on, just because you saw one male on the presidium that one time!”

“Seilla, you’re so unromantic!” came the indignant reply.

Seilla was about to reply when another message came in, notifying her of an incoming call.   
Her eyes widened as she saw the sender.  
“Sorry Lania, got to go!” she called before severing the connection and opening the incoming call.

Her father looked up at her from the screen on her omni-tool.

“Hello Seil.” He smiled.   
“hello father,” Seilla responded respectfully.  
Her father chuckled. “I’ll be home soon,” his mandibles flared happily, “I couldn’t reach your mother so made sure to contact you in case the locks were mysteriously hacked again.”   
He arched a brow plate and Seilla let out an embarrassed trill, “Dad! I said I was sorry, I just wanted to try a new program!”   
Her father merely laughed, and severed the connection.

Seilla stood for a few moments, her father was finally coming home, he’d been gone for almost two years, only coming home occasionally for a few days at a time.   
She knew he’d been involved with the humans because of the funny stories he told her and her mother over vidcoms. But he was coming home. Hopefully for more than a few days this time.

She tried to contact her mother’s omni-tool but as she started to call the apartments front door hissed open and the familiar sounds of her mother’s talons on the floor drifted down the hall.

Her mother poked her head through the door, “everything alright Seil?” she smiled. Seilla grinned, her mandibles flaring wide in excitement. “Dad’s coming home!” she (almost) squeaked.  
Her mother’s eyes lit up! “When did he say he’d be back!??!!!” she stared at her omni-tool, grimacing as she heard a call come in. “Tarc,” she hissed, “I’m sorry Seil. I have to go in, there was a crisis on Zachera Ward, some stupid gang fight, so of course we all have to stay late.”  
Seil sighed, sometimes having a mother who worked in C-Sec wasn’t as fun as it sounded.  
“What about Dad?” she asked,  
Her mother’s face fell, “Tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can. You can order out and we’ll all talk as soon as I get back ok?”  
“Sure mum.”  
“Ok, back soon ok?”  
“Sure.”

The door hissed closed and Seilla sighed. If only she could get both her parents under one roof together for more than a few hours.

She turned back to her desk and began to work through her homework. It wasn’t as hard as she had thought and she was finished and playing with the mods on her assault rifle when she heard the door hiss open again, a tumult of voices shouting questions then silence as the doors hissed closed again, followed by the deep tired rumble that could only be her father.

Tossing her rifle (safely) on her bed she ran down the hall to the door where her father stood, his bag resting by his feet as he leant against the door.  
She could see he was shattered, his plates dull and colony marks in need of a good touch up.  
“Dad? Is everything alright?”  
Her father looked up and smiled tiredly, “Hello Seil, yes I’m fine. Just reporters outside.”  
“Reporters? Why?”  
“We signed the treaty Seil. Is your mother home?”

“No, there was an emergency at work.”  
Her father huffed and chuckled quietly, “Of course there is.” He looked up, his mandibles slack with lack of sleep. “Care to help me with my bag?”

Seilla pulled up her father’s pack and took it through to the living room.  
Her father sighed as slid down onto the couch.  
Seilla grabbed a glass and filled it with his favourite brandy as she sat down opposite him. She had never seen her father this tired. It wasn’t right, what had he been doing?

The silence filled the room, billowing with weariness, stress and curiosity all together, the air was thick with it, seeming to drip down Seilla’s throat as she wondered how to ask what had happened, her keen green eyes (as green as her fathers) exploring every line of her father’s face for a hint, a subtle clue as to where he had been and what he had been doing with the humans.

The minutes stretched into an hour, and finally another half hour before the door once again slide open and her mother hurried in.   
Her father had fallen asleep, but the moment the door had moved his eyes had snapped open and now he stood facing her mother, his mate.  
Seilla sat, unnoticed for the moment as the two most important people in her life ran at each other, all sense of formality and protocol vanished in the moment of reunion. Theirs was one of those special forms of love that one only encounters very rarely in life, even in a galaxy as full as ours. The sacred breed of love that time doesn’t alter, or arguments damage. The kind of love born and not recognised, the kind that grows slowly, but blossoms in one moment of burning, terrifying honesty brought about by circumstance out of our feeble control and tempered and solidified into something stronger than any material known to the galaxy in the cool quietness and mild confusion that often follows such events. Yes, they fought, yes, they bickered, but now in that one moment, Seilla could see their love shine so bright not even the Primarch and all the hierarchy could not have stopped them holding each other close, their foreheads touching, their purrs filling the room, sweeping all the stress and curiosity that had previously filled it before them, filling the apartment, their home with the sense of deep familial love that only those whose hearts truly belong to one another have ever felt. Seilla, though young, was painfully aware of that love, and knew she was part of it as her parents pulled her into their embrace. 

 

They could have held that embrace for days, or minutes, no one cared, but finally her father coughed and eased the embrace apart.   
“Seilla, Varuna my love,” he led them both back to the couch, “We need to talk.”

Seilla sat forward, her curiosity flooding back in full force, with some of its friends for back up in case she should get ideas again.

Her father cleared his throat and got straight to the point.  
“We have signed a treaty with the humans. But not just any treaty, I can’t tell you all the details until the Primarch and the Human Prime Minister make their announcements but I can tell you one thing. The three of us will be heading to Earth.”

Silence was the only answer as Seilla and her mother struggled to comprehend what they had heard.

“What are you saying Quintus?” breathed her mother, “The humans are opening up? Or are we to be basically hostages?”

Her father shook his head, “You never will forgive them for knocking you out at 314, will you?” he chuckled, “No we will not be hostages, the whole negotiation team and our families have been invited to come for a ten-day tour of the planet before a Consul is sent.”

“So, we’ll be guests on the human’s home planet?” asked Seilla, almost on the edge of her seat with excitement.   
“That’s right, it’s an official visit.”

“So, when do we go?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll be leaving from docking D23.”  
“What are we supposed to bring?“  
“Anything we wish, and no that does not include your assault rifle Seilla! Pack your best wear, no armour, you don’t belong to a regiment yet and the humans are our allies, no need to be rude by gearing for a planetary assault!”

“Yes dad”

 

Seilla stared at the strange vessel in front of her, it was huge, the size of a decent cruiser, but instead of the standard angular winged shape of a normal Turian Cruiser, this vessel was all smooth lines and fins, making it look like a particularly vicious kind of fish, the name “Union” written upon its bow in both the human and the Turian alphabet.  
The docking bay was surrounded by swarms of Citadel press, held at bay by ranks of C-Sec officers. Groups of curious or furious civilians joined the press, their shouts muffled by the security fields.   
Her parents, dressed in their formal uniforms turned and smiled, “Come on Seil,” her father murmured, “we have to get aboard.”

Seilla tore her eyes from the ships smooth dark lines and entered the vessel. Where normally there would be a decontamination cycle, it was determined that decontaminating the VIPs might not be the best idea. 

 

A few hours later, once they were all settled in a cabin (there weren’t many with it being a warship) Seilla and her family were invited to make their way to the observation lounge as the “Union” left the citadel.

Seilla hadn’t had many opportunities to leave the citadel, other than the occasional visits to family back on Palaven, as result, while her parents mingled with the rest of the delegation (none of whom had child of her age much to her relief) on the run up to the first Mass Relay, Seilla subtlety braced herself against the wall (Spirits it’d be so embarrassing to fall over in front of everyone!”

However, there was more than just one relay between the Citadel and Earth. Over the course of the trip, Seilla rapidly became bored of the political conversations her parents her having. She understood the importance of politics full well. She merely struggled with the idea of talking about it all day every day. 

The end result was the Seilla knew every inch of the “Union” from bridge to stern. When the joint Human/Turian crew twigged that she wasn’t just some spoilt brat, and was genuinely interested in how the ship ran, and particularly in the armoury, they were more than willing to talk to her during their times off watch. Seilla was even allowed to watch while the Turian crew were trained with the Human heatrays in one of the hangers. The eerie green flashes of light slicing through the armour on the targets filling her dreams for several days. She also learnt a lot more about humans (both crews were still learning about each other as well, so it was mutual). The fact that that there seemed to be completely different cultures all on the same planet. The fact that they had different gods (or none), the fact that while all spoke Galactic standard and the human language English, some spoke more languages like Kurt, the ships human cook. The tall, brown-crested human whose stomach seemed to enter the room long before he did, and whose waist was non-existent. Seilla liked talking with him, his accent for galactic standard was strange but oddly soothing and his willingness to laugh at even the most awful jokes was infectious. The two rapidly became inseparable, Kurt even going as far as to commandeer a chair from the mess and placing it next to his stove in the galley so they could talk more without Seilla finding herself in the way.   
One morning Seilla was sitting on her throne in the galley, watching as Kurt made yet another strange human dish called “Pancakes” in a huge saucepan while being closely (yet surreptitiously) watched by the curious Turian cooks. “Kurt?” Seilla suddenly asked,  
“Yes Seilla?”  
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who is that man in the uniform in that holoframe on the wall?”  
“Ah, tsat ist se Kaiser, Kaiser Fredrick se Eleventh”  
“An Emperor?”  
“Yes, tso to be honest, it’s not so much an Empire nowadays.”  
“Why not?”  
“Ve haf not so much need for Empire’s now a days. Se Kaiser is tsere to make sure tsat tse government dost not get out of control.”  
“Is he similar to the King of Britain?”  
“He ist exactly the same, the King of Britain, the Kaiser of Germany and the Tsar of Russia, all have the same job.”  
“So why the holoframe?”  
“Because I serve him, as I serve my country. He ist a symbol for Germany, he ist a gut man. He has fought in conflict and served in politics. He knows vat he ist doing.”

Seilla was about to ask another question when piercing whistle that preceded all ship wide announcements echoed through the deck.  
“Attention all crew and passengers,” came the gruff voice of Captain Lucias Prudentanum, “the “Union” will be exiting the Sol Relay in 30 Earth minutes or 27 Palaven sontums.”

Kurt smiled at Seilla, “Vell now, it looks like your adventure ist about to get started eh?” 

 

 

As the “Union” emerged from the Sol relay, Seilla couldn’t help her eyes widening. Before her lay the Sol Home Fleet. The Churchill and Bastion class battle stations spaced evenly around the relay, ready to take all threats, the Home Fleet drawn up in Parade formation, headed by the Galaxy renowned “Thunderchild II” (the same that had led the fleet during the Batarian Crisis) the ships gleamed dully like a polished collection of beloved blades (her father’s friend Titus Vakarian had a huge collection back on Palaven).   
Beside her, her father stood rigidly while her mother supressed a shudder.  
Seilla on the other hand, stood in stunned silence. The sheer number and size of the ships. The formations of Spiteful class fighters moving gracefully into escort position around the “Union” alongside the Artimus class frigates amazed the young Turian. Even the Turian 1st fleet did not have vessels this big. 

A few of the other members of the delegation murmured quietly amongst themselves but Seilla noticed her father silently taking her mother’s hand in his, unnoticed by those around them.   
Seilla knew both her both her parents had strong feelings about the humans, but while her father was keen to learn as much as he could and ensure the Hierarchy benefitted from its relationship with the new race, her mother maintained a strong dislike for humanity, not that she’d ever admit to one.   
Seilla couldn’t understand her mother’s dislike, yes humans could be loud from what little she knew of them (few had made to the Citadel due to the Councils open distrust of humanity since the Batarian Crisis), but that still didn’t explain her dislike. The only clue she had was when her father joked about the Humans knocking her mother out. Seilla was old enough to not take him literally but even so she couldn’t picture humans ever getting the drop on her mother, spirits sake she couldn’t even get out of bed without her mother hearing it. Her mother worked in C-Sec anyway as long as Seilla could remember. But her father was of a navy background and now worked in the diplomatic division, that didn’t explain how he met her mother. But when she asked, her parents brushed her off or just outright told her it was a story for another time. Maybe this trip to the human’s home world might clear the air.

 

The “Union” began its decent through earth’s atmosphere, heading down in a fiery arc towards the cool green and blue planet below. Looking through the window, Seilla could make out the strange green islands the Humans called Great Britain. They looked so small, just two green shapes on a huge planet, in an even larger galaxy, and yet its people and their descendants populated huge swathes of the galaxy. 

 

Their arrival in London was highly publicised, the streets around the Crystal Palace Space and aero-port thronged with the press and public. A column of official Government Rolls Royce Sky cars, specially modified for Turians collected the delegation from the “Union’s sealed docking bay and flew high above the city. The city stretched like a glittering chest of quartine with the dark blue of the Thames winding amidst the city. The city’s countless parks and tree lined avenues filled with humans enjoying their day with their families.  
As the sky cars came lower as they approached Kensington Palace (where they would be staying), the guide in their car, a nervous looking human in a pinstriped suit who had been introduced as William, began to point out the various sites they would be visiting, the Tower of London, the Martian memorial on Primrose hill, Buckingham Palace and Westminster. As he pointed out Westminster, Big Ben struck ten and the great bell rang forth the hour across the city.  
Seilla had been keeping her curiosity in check, determined to be a good Turian and not blurt out questions like a fledgling, but as the car slowed and stopped just inside the front gate of palace, she couldn’t help her eyes growing wide at the sight of so many humans.  
The humans in question held themselves completely still, their red and black uniforms with their black furry hats looking so out of place in this modern city. As the Turians gathered together in front of the palace, a loud bellow arose from the nearest human, this one was different from the others only in his lack of weapon (he held a stick!) and the gold pattern on his upper sleeve. Seilla’s translator struggled to track his voice and all she wound up hearing was “’OOOONNNNNAAAARRRRRGUAAARRR!!!!! PRRRREEEEEEESSSSSEEENN……UMS!”  
The Delegation watched as the humans (at least two hundred of them) in perfect unison to rival even the famed 1st Legion snapped their weapons from their shoulders, holding them out in front of themselves, the barrels pointing upwards, the blades on the end of the heatrays shining like polished chromous. 

Seilla was the first to notice the handful of humans waiting on the steps of the palace. The one in the middle was the most noticeable, he was tall (for a human) and stood in a bright red and black uniform like the soldiers in front of her. Unlike the soldiers however, his head was bare and his red jacket had a dark blue sash cutting diagonally across it. He also had a number of medals. The young female beside him was in a formal blood-blue long cut dress in an obvious human take on the current Turian formal style. After racking her brain for a second, Seilla recognised both as being the King and Queen of Britain, (Wait, it’s only the King, what’s his bond mate’s title? Duchess of Edunbor?).  
As the Turian Delegation stood stoically in front of the Human Honour guard, the King and his bond mate made their way down to great their guests. Seilla was amazed when the King stepped forward and shook her father’s hand firmly, and even more astonished when he father shook his hand back firmly and with the pleased chirrup he reserved for when greeting old friends from his navy days.  
As the Human King lead the delegation inside the Palace, Seilla could only stare at her father, how on Palaven did her father know the ruler of half the Human race? This visit was going to be even more interesting than she had thought!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, first off, I’d like to apologise for taking so long. University is not fun, and writer’s block is even worse.  
> Now then, THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION!!!! You, the readers can choose whether the next chapter tells more about Seilla’s visit to earth and does a bit of character development and describing earth in the future, or, we can skip a few years and carry on with the story. In order to vote just type what you want into the comments and send it through, which ever course gets the most votes gets done! The cut off point for the suggestions in the 30th of September!  
> “SPOILER!” Seilla is going to be the main character for the rest of the story so I hope she made a good first impression.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modern London and the first main adventure with our main character

To say that Seilla Harranus was curious would be an unforgivable understatement. It took all her resolve and ingrained Turian restraint not to gape at her father as they were led down the corridors of Kensington palace.   
Her father had introduced the King and his bondmate to the other members of the delegation and his family and Seilla was amazed by the King’s insistence that while out of the public eye, that everyone call him Edward.   
Due to the differing Time Zones and the length of the journey, the delegation were quickly shown to their apartments in the palace.   
The moment William (their continually hovering minder) shut the door, the Seilla and her parents rapidly unpacked only what was needed, Seilla now almost about to burst with questions. Her father seemed to sense this and finally asked his bondmate and daughter to sit down. Once they were settled, he sat in the Turian armchair in front of them.   
“I think there’s some explaining to do,” he murmured, pouring himself a brandy. “I met the King at Relay 314.”  
Beside her, Seilla’s mother stiffened.  
“You were at 314?”  
“Yes Seilla, both your mother and I were at 314,” her father acknowledged, “I was a bridge technician, and your mother was a comms specialist. We were both on the bridge when the Hexalus went down, and your mother was knocked unconscious. We were both picked up by a human frigate and were greeted by Commodore Majors. Your mother was badly injured so we were both taken to the medbay, along with the surviving Hexalus medical staff. When we arrived, there was a young human officer assigned to watch us.”  
“Between his enthusiasm and my tech skills we were able to work out a rudimentary translation application for communication between ours and their medical staff. As a result, he was assigned to be our minder while the Humans and Hierarchy communicated. Thanks to his fascination with our culture and the comradeship we’d built up over the weeks, when the Council got involved he was part of the negotiation team. When the tension ended, we kept in touch and remained good friends. I never knew he was the next in line to the British Throne until the coronation. I even helped him court his mate without knowing!”   
Her father sighed, “He’s a good man, he’s been pushing the treaty we have signed. To be honest, he has been the leading voice in getting humanity to open up.”  
Beside her, Seilla’s mother was silent, her eyes boring holes in her bondmate head. “All this time,” she murmured, “You’ve known my feelings towards them. I knew they fascinated you, and I was willing to tolerate that, but you’ve been friends with one of them, one of their most powerful rulers no less and you never (she spat the word with a viciousness Seilla had never heard) NEVER thought to tell me!”  
Her father sighed, “I didn’t tell you because it was deemed to be top secret by the hierarchy my love,” he rumbled gently. “I couldn’t tell you, and I wanted to give you time to learn about them. They are now our allies and chances are, our truest friends in this galaxy.”  
Her mother flopped back in her chair, her shoulders slumping, “I’ll never forget the Hexalus,” she murmured, “I lost friends that day.”  
“True,” murmured her father, “but I found you.”

 

The following morning marked the beginning of their official tour of London, William leading her family into a black skycar while the moon still hung in the sky, part of the official convoy they would be traveling around London in. As the car rose into the air Seilla turned to her parents, both of whom had been quiet throughout the morning. Both were looking out the windows. Their first stop was the Buckingham Palace Memorial Garden.   
As the car purred above the city, the view stretched beneath her, the emerald green of the cities lights (even today powered by the Martian generators at Chelsea) interspersed with the occasional sapphire blue of a police box or station, giving the entire city the look of an opened treasure chest. The skyscrapers in the Business District towering into the clouds, their steel shining like silver blades. William explained to them that while London was a modern city, (some said it was the capital of the world) the Square-Mile at its heart was protected as it was the seat of power and culture for the country, as a result there were no sky-scrapers or buildings that would clash with the original buildings in the area.   
As the car began to descend, Seilla peeled her eyes from the city and instead turned her attention to the view in front of them.   
Her first thought at the sight that greeted her was that there must have been a mistake. The dark park in front of her looked like a warzone, chunks of a building rising from the grass and trees, the dark scars of trenches and gun pits slashing across the grass. In front of this area was the imposing façade of a building that looked like it might once have been a palace or museum facing onto a large barren square surrounded by tall dark railings before a large fountain.  
As the delegation’s cars landed upon the square inside the railings and the Turians exited the cars with their human guides (see minders), Seilla realized that the façade was actually a genuine part of building. William explained that it used to be the main entrance to the public residence of the British Royal Family named Buckingham Palace. However, during the Martian invasion, when the bulk of the British Army had been defeated by the Martian’s use of black dust at the Albert Defence Line, the Royal Household Regiments had mounted a defence of the palace lead by none other than Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught and Strathearn, the seventh child of Queen Victoria, allowing for the Royal Family, the Royal Staff and almost six million civilians to flee the city. The Royal Artillery set up their guns not only in the park around the palace but also in the palace itself. Both regiments of the Household Cavalry mounted numerous suicidal charges against the Martian tripods through the streets of London in a successful bid to distract the Martians from the evacuation efforts in the major railway stations and along the river, and bringing the Martian focus to bear on the palace. The Battle of the Palace, as it became known lasted only four hours and resulted in the almost complete destruction of the Household Regiments, the Coldstream Guards suffering 97% casualties and the Life Guards suffering 99% percent casualties. The Royal Artillery lost all its guns and all its officers. However, the survivors, including a severely injured Prince Arthur, managed to withdraw under cover of darkness having destroyed four Martian tripods. Buckingham Palace had been almost destroyed but when the Martians fell, it was found that the Royal Standard was still flying from the flag staff and after an inquiry it was found that the Prince’s role in the defence of the palace had been considerable, to the point of crewing an artillery piece which had lost its loader before the gun was destroyed by a heatray, which killed the crew and severely injured the Prince. It was due to this report that resulted in the Prince being named as the heir to the throne after Prince Edward, the rightful heir, not only fled the city, but was killed in the process. As Prince Arthur had died in 1932 with no heir (his wartime injuries preventing it) the son of prince Edward was decreed the most logical heir and in turn his second son George (the first born, another Edward, having fallen for an American divorcee and in a constitutional crisis being forced to abdicate).   
In the aftermath of the invasion, it was decided that the Palace would only have its front section rebuilt as it was better for public displays and addresses, however, the rest of the palace ruins were made safe then made into a memorial garden for all those who died in the 1st and later the 2nd Martian Wars. 

As the delegation was lead around the side of the palace, Seilla was amazed at the Human race’s eagerness to remember such a dark time. The ruins of the palace stuck out of the grass and among the trees that had been allowed to grow. As they walked, the birds had begun to stir and twitter to themselves, the sun beginning to creep over the skyline.   
At her father’s request, William lead them to the preserved defences, the hastily constructed but well dug trenches populated by the occasional life size soldier made of Martian metal dressed in the uniforms of the various Guards regiments, the Artillery and Maxime guns which were mostly melted into their pits, the metal melted and twisted, a chilling reminder of the power of the original heatrays, which had only become more powerful as the humans experimented and expanded.   
However, it was the memorial in the centre of what had once been the throne room that stole Seilla’s breath away, set at the centre of the park so all the paths and bridle paths (who’d have thought the humans would still ride horses) met in front of it.   
A large, white, marble plinth, set on a rectangular base, the plinth had writing around the edge underneath a detailed mural which Seilla couldn’t make out in the pre-dawn darkness. However, it was what sat atop the plinth that caught her attention  
Atop the plinth were six tall bronze figures, bedecked in old looking uniforms and heatrays, the one at the front was waving those behind forward. Their faces seemed to be set no in anger but in a grim determination. While the figures themselves were imposing, it was the differences between them that were fascinating. The one in the front was dressed in an early uniform of a blouse, trousers, wrap-around puttees, a smooth chest plate with lobster-plated shoulders, early webbing with heatray raised. His round helmet shadowed the top half of his face. The ones behind him were all wearing the same uniform, but their headgear differed distinctly, one wore a full beard and turban (Sikh Indian William explained) a funny shaped wide brimmed hat with one side turned up (A slouch hat from Australia) a broad hat with a top shaped like a missile warhead (Lemon-squeezer from New Zealand) and a thin hat with a crease down the middle and two ribbons down the back of the neck (Glengarry for the Canadian highlanders). Their guide explained that it was the Soldier’s Memorial for all British and Commonwealth troops that were killed.   
The Turians all nodded politely but Seilla noticed her father looking closely at the memorial, his face set in the inscrutable expression he always adopted when faced with something he wanted to remember.

After watching the dawn over the park, the Turians were escorted back to their sky cars and the convoy made its way to a large twelve-story building described to them as the finest hotel on earth, the Savoy Hotel of London.   
Breakfast was a formal (but delicious) affair, followed by King Edward’s arrival as he would be formally guiding the delegation through the city for the duration of their stay. 

Following the Kings arrival, the delegation was transported to the second point of the day. The dramatic St. Paul’s Cathedral. Built following the Great Fire of London, and being the Largest Building in London to survive the Martian Invasion it rapidly gained the image of being the symbol of human ability to rebuild and endure.   
By this time, Seilla was finding this a bit overwhelming, the huge vaulted dome, the echoing halls, it was all too much. She quietly tugged murmured to her father that she needed some air and he nodded, telling her to be sure to tell William where she was going.  
William led her out one of the numerous side doors and onto the grass of the park around the cathedral.   
Upon her looking around, Seilla noticed a pair of humans walking past dressed all in a blue uniform so dark it was almost black. Dark pressed trousers and high-neck tunics with silver buttons and collar numbers. They wore a similar coloured chest plate and upper thigh armour with silver crests but apart from their blue omni-tools and polished wooden truncheons, they appeared to be unarmed. However, the most noticeable thing about them, Seilla decided, were the tall domed helmets they wore with a large silver crest on the front.   
Upon seeing Seilla’s stare, William quietly explained that the two humans were members of the London Metropolitan Police. Similar to the Citadel’s C-Sec or the Criptine Guard.   
“But what about weapons?” asked a very bewildered Seilla, “Surely they should be armed with more than just sticks?”  
“Not really,” replied William in his dry, monotone voice, “But there are dedicated armed police officers throughout the city, and then there’s the stompers too.”  
“The what?”  
As she spoke, William simply gave her a bored look and pointed at the gates to the Cathedral where a large queue had formed, watched closely by a large number of policemen and what looked like two tall metal monsters from a fledgling’s story scroll. When she moved closer however, she could see they were a kind of exo-suit, with three tall metal legs holding the police operator just above the reach of those on the ground. The suit had ten long, dexterous, segmented metal tentacles that were waving idly above the crowd. The pilot was strapped in with a thin metal plate between him and the crowd with a large revolving blue light fixed to the top of the cabin. As Seilla watched the pilot revolved the cabin a full 360 degrees while keeping the legs of the “stomper” grounded. 

She was about to inquire further about the lack of firearms on the police when William suddenly put a finger to his ear piece his eyes going wide.   
“We have to go! Now!” he stated calmly yet with an iron undertone that suggested any argument would be ignored. He nudged her ahead of him and began to walk with a long rapid stride straight back to the door they’d exited from while speaking rapidly into his lapel microphone.   
When they were within roughly a few meters of the door, William looked up and with a yell of “DOWN!!” threw himself over Seilla, knocking her to the ground as something large and dark whistled overhead before plowing into the ground throwing up soil and cobblestones with the shriek of twisted metal. 

As Seilla’s ears stopped ringing she became aware of the smell of burning flesh and leather. Her eyes stinging from the smoke she crawled from under William’s body to see a skycar burning in the gouge it had carved into the soil, four figures climbing from the wreckage with the angular shapes of pistols in their hands.   
The two constables she had seen earlier were running towards the car and were promptly gunned down, crimson blood flying.  
While many of the humans in the park froze for a split second, Seilla wasted no time in legging it, her long well-trained legs carrying her away from the shots that were popping behind her, rounds buzzing past her ears as she wove between the trees and out of the park, into the crowds on the streets. She slowed her pace to blend with the crowds that stared at her. Overhead, a trio of police skycars hurtled towards St Pauls their sirens blaring. Black and silver painted Flying Squad WASP mechs hot on their tail. Seilla saw none of them, focusing only on ensuring she was out of the firing zone and could get to the safe location of a police station. She brought up her omni-tool, the harsh orange light merely standing out more amongst the soft blue of the human’s omni-tools. 

So focused on getting of the main streets and following the quickest route to the station, Seilla didn’t look at the nature of the ally she’d gone down until the sound of boots on the cobbles behind her drew her attention.  
In her moment of distraction her foot talons caught on a cobblestone, causing her to stumble and her omnitool slip from her wrist to crack against the ground.  
“Tarc!” she cursed seeing a group of humans behind her. The humans were a mismatched bunch, with hair (particularly the females) in bright neon colours, and in ridiculous styles (That male on the right looked like an earth parrot!). The only things they had in common were their grey coloured shirts, their lower faces covered by black cloth and their hateful looking eyes. 

As the men and women closed around her, Seilla cursed her lack of knowledge of the city, she’d been trapped like a scrattum (a small mouse-like rodent back home). She shook her head and unsheathed her talons, determined to put up a fight. The woman nearest to her lunged and Seilla quickly dodged bringing her fist down on the human’s head as sailed past. The female crumpled in a heap. Seilla spun back to face the others but it was too late, a fist struck her shoulder throwing her off balance. The owner of the fist however swore, and even through her fear and anger Seilla felt a mandible quirk in smugness at the human’s response to hitting her plates.   
However, that didn’t change the gravity of her position. Seilla could feel herself being backed further down the alley way, further from the openness of the street. One of the humans (she wasn’t sure if this one was male or female to be honest) pulled out a short blade. “Now you little Martian shit!” they growled, “You’ll get your desserts!” Seilla’s blood boiled, how dare they! She was a Turian and she was damned if they would get her species wrong! She’d show them how a Turian fought! 

However, before she or the humans could make another move a piercing PPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!!!! Filled the air, the humans turned and sprinted as the sound of boots came thundering down the cobbles of the alley way. Sirens could be heard in the distance and closing fast. Some of the humans tried to push past her but in her anger Seilla wasn’t having it. Her mind barely registered the sirens and whistles but she registered the thugs pushing past and she wasn’t letting them run! A few well aimed punches and kicks later and three of the louts were on the ground, unable to do much beyond crawling away. As she downed the last one, Seilla felt movement behind her and turned throwing another punch only to hit solid armour.  
“Arrghh!” she yelled as her knuckles exploded in pain.

“Hells Bells!” came a voice, “Its alright! You’re safe!”  
This voice was different to the others, not rough and filled with hate and anger like the thugs, but firm, with an inherent warmth. Two arms encircled Seilla as she went to through another hit, pinning her arms to her sides. She tried to land a kick but stopped when she heard a strange sound. A low melodic hum. The humming was rising and falling, clearly a song. The vibrations from the humming were soothing, similar to Turian purring, calming her enough for her to look up at the face of the human holding her. Her eyes widened at the multi-coloured irises looking back at her and the gentle upturn of the human’s lips. The human was young, she thought, looked like the younger soldiers and sailors on the “Union”. Her eyes were drawn to the black domed police helmet on his head. She slowly began to relax as she realised she was safe, well safer at any rate.   
“You, all right?” The human asked, his voice low and quiet but somehow still laced with the firmness from before.  
Seilla nodded, still uncertain.   
“You’re not going to hit me again? You’ve got a mean right hook there!” the human’s mouth turned up even more and Seilla felt her mandible loosen instinctively in a small smile.  
The human slowly released her and Seilla couldn’t help but look around, the thugs on the ground were being dragged to their feet by other police officers and escorted (see man-handled) towards the street.   
One officer however was striding towards them.  
“Callan!”   
The officer beside stiffened to attention. “Yes sir?”  
“Is this the missing Turian?”  
“I’m assuming so sir!”  
“Watch you lip constable.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“The commissioner and the home office are already breathing down our necks. Get her to station, file a report and she will be collected as soon as possible.”  
“Yes sir!”  
Seilla, by this point was feeling decidedly brassed off. Not only had she been attacked and nearly killed but this policeman was talking to the constable as if she wasn’t even there!  
The officer turned away and the constable relaxed.   
“Sorry about that miss,” the constable smiled, “Chief Constable there always has a bit of a stick up his arse, pardon my French.”  
Seilla sniggered at the mental picture but then stopped, “That wasn’t French, was it?”  
The constable’s smile grew larger as he barked a short laugh, “Not quite miss” he explained as he began to lead her back to waiting police sky car. “we just think that most rude language is unbecoming so we call it French!”  
Seilla chuckled but stopped as she saw the seats in the car. They were definitely designed for a human and wouldn’t be safe for any Turian.   
The Constable saw her hesitation, “Everything all right miss?”  
He followed her eyes and his faced dawned in realization. “Would you rather walk to the station miss? It’s not too far.”   
Seilla turned to the human, surprised at the kindness in his voice in stark contrast to the anger in her attackers and the guarded courtesy of human minders and dignitaries.  
“Yes please,” she murmured quietly.  
“Right then,” smiled the constable, “Lets get going then, need to get you back as quickly as possible.”

Just as he started to walk motion her in the right direction, the sound of running boots on the cobbles came pounding down the alley and a second later a young female constable with the darkest skin Seilla had ever seen on a human, staggered to a stop, her arm flying out to arrest her stop and smacking Callan in the stomach.”  
“Oooph! Lizzy what are you doing?”  
“Sorry Dan, you taking her to the station?” the young woman asked, straightening her helmet and gesturing in Seilla’s direction.  
Seilla sighed, yet another human who couldn’t be bothered learning names.  
“Yeah, lost her omni-tool and needs to fill out the paperwork, ah!” the constable “Dan” smacked his forehead, “I’m so sorry miss, what is your name? I’m sorry I clean forgot to ask!”  
Seilla’s mandible flared wide at the site of the contrite looking constable.  
“It’s Seilla,” she grinned, “Seilla Harranus.”  
“Well Seilla,” said Lizzy, “Can’t have just Danny boy here take you back all on his own, I’ll come too.”  
“Yeah sure you will,” muttered Dan, “Would you like to contact your parents Seilla?”  
She started, oh no, were her parents alright?  
“Its alright love,” Lizzy spoke hurriedly, “No one in the delegation was hurt and no one was killed except the terrorists!”   
“What about the police?” muttered Seilla, “I saw them hit!”  
“Don’t you worry,” smiled Dan, his mouth a grim smile, “they’re in hospital, will take more than some bloody terrorists to do for them!”  
Relieved, Seilla began to relax until she remembered why she’d been outside in the first place. Tarc! Her parents were going to be so angry! She’d stuffed up big time this time round.  
“Erm, well… That’s great!…”  
“That’s all right,” Dan smiled, recognising her distress, “Lets get you to the station and you can contact them from there eh?”  
She nodded, wondering how she could put off the inevitable tarc storm for as long as possible.   
As they turned down the wide street, Seilla took the chance to observe her surroundings, the three-story brick and stone buildings on either side, the occasional shops with hanging signs out-front. The whole thing reminded her of the old part of Criptine her parents had taken her when she was small. But these places weren’t museums, they were working businesses, a stark contrast to the gleaming sky scrapers in the distance. She walked between the two constables who were walking in an easy silence, occasionally using their omni-tools to make a report or listen to a message.

She also took note of the strange street names, Gresham Street, then a right into Princess street.   
As they walked towards a cross roads she became aware of the humans around her, most were staring at her, and she shivered thinking of the angry faces of her attackers, but this time, there was no sign of anger in their faces, just curiosity and occasionally a few of the younger humans pointed but a many smiled and waved before returning to their tasks.   
Just before they reached the cross roads however, Danny tapped her shoulder and pointed the broad imposing building they were walking beside. “Bank of England,” he explained, “No where safer in the world… well except the tower that is.” He grinned. As they turned a corner and passed the entrance of the bank Seilla’s eyes were drawn to large memorial on the other side of the road.   
Atop a simple marble plinth were two life-size, bronze figures, the first was human female, wearing a frontline uniform from the end of the Martian War, her heatray hung down by her side, her arms were wrapped around the shoulders of a male human in the same uniform. The two figures were locked in an embrace, their foreheads touching, their helmets resting on the plinth beneath them.   
Danny explained that the memorial was for the men and women of the City of London that had fallen during both the Martian Wars and all wars that came after. Seilla stared at the memorial, the faces on the man and woman reflecting a weary joy, the faces of those who after a long struggle can finally rest. Danny and Liz waited patiently as she committed every detail of that statue to memory. It was one of the most emotional memorials she had ever seen, Turians didn’t approve of many emotions other than pride in their memorials, leaving the emotions for the privacy of their own homes and Spirit Gardens.   
When she was ready to go again she noticed that Liz was nudging Danny with her elbow and his face was turning a strange shade of pink.   
“Ooohhh Daaannnnyyyyy” Liz sang quietly, “Do you want to pop in to see your girlfriend?”  
“Hush up Liz”  
“Goooo ooonnn! You know you want too,” Liz chuckled with a wink making Seilla’s mandibles twitch in amusement.  
“Wheesht woman!”  
“Come on Seilla” Liz took her hand without noticing Seilla’s surprise, “let’s get this guy a date!”  
“Are you serious Liz?” came the call from behind them, “Seilla don’t listen to her!”  
Before Seilla could even respond she was pulled into a shop, the bell above the door tinkling merrily.   
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Seilla saw the walls were lined with various sized, rectangular, leather and card boxes.   
A split second after this, Danny burst through the door, his face a deep red, “Lizzy! What are you doing Dammit?!” he whispered harshly, his body hunched as if trying to be smaller than it was.   
“Seilla,” smiled Liz as if nothing was wrong, “Do you have bookshops on the Citadel?”   
“What’s a book?” hissed a very confused Seilla  
Liz stifled a giggle and pointed behind her. Seilla turned and hissed in surprise, Danny’s complexion had gone from red to white. He looked like he was about to say something when someone else gave a little cough.  
All three turned, Danny jumping like he’d been hit by a pellet gun.  
Behind them was a counter, somehow sandwiched between a large bookcase groaning beneath the weight of its contents and a teetering pile of the leather and card boxes, though now that Seilla could see them, she could see they weren’t really boxes but covers for sheaths of paper.   
Behind the counter stood a young woman, her deep brown hair pulled up so it hung like a tail down behind her head. Her skin was the same creamy shade as Danny, with a light dusting of strange darker spots across her nose and cheeks beneath bright blue eyes. As she stood Seilla saw that while her shoulders were slender and she had a waist some Turians would die for, there was an inner strength about her that radiated a relaxed yet careful persona.   
The woman was wearing a loose white shirt and dark green slacks as she shimmied out between the piles of books and stood in front of them. She arched an eyebrow at Lizzy’s smirk before turning her eyes to Seilla, “Good morning,” she smiled warmly, “You’re a Turian aren’t you?”   
Seilla couldn’t explain why but she felt compelled to answer as she would to a visiting family member, “Yes, ma’am,” she responded, “My names Seilla, Seilla Harranus.”  
“Well it’s a great pleasure to meet you Seilla. Welcome to my shop.” The woman grinned, “The name’s Sarah, Sarah McDonald. Now if you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing with my best customer,” she nodded at Danny who looked like he was trying to sink through the floor, “and the most formidable crest-head this side of the river?”  
Liz laughed as she answered for them all, “Young lady here got a bit lost and ran into some greys. Danny boy and I are taking her back to the house to sign the book and then she’ll be back with the delegation. Danny just thought we should pop in and say hello as we were passing, didn’t you Dan?!”  
Dan’s face was beginning to regain its red tinge as he mumbled something into his collar. Seilla was beginning to suspect that Liz knew something about Danny that had something to do with either this shop or its owner, who was at that moment disappearing back behind her counter while rooting around for something.   
“Aha!” she suddenly shouted, startling Seilla who released a very un-Turian yip of surprise. The woman didn’t seem to notice though, instead making her way to where Danny was standing, shuffling from foot to foot. “Your order came in Daniel, took me a while to track these little buggers down though, next time give me something easier eh?” She smiled warmly at the blushing constable, handing him a brown paper package tied with a rough looking string.   
Danny’s face lit up as she handed him the package, his reddened face splitting in a wide grin, “T-t-th-thanks s-s-Sarah,” he stuttered, “T-these will h-help a lot with my c-co-collection.”  
Sarah blushed and smiled as she stepped back, “Oh by the way,” she turned to Seilla, “Have you never read a book?”   
“Not really,” confessed Seilla, “Is this how humans record things? I though you used computers and omni-tools?”   
Sarah smiled, “Indeed we do, but before we had computers we wrote books, in fact, many people still prefer to read books as opposed to screens.”  
“Ah,” Seilla smiled in realization, “We use scrolls at home and during formal occasions!”  
“There you go then,” smiled Sarah, “Tell you what, why don’t you go and find a book you like the look of to have as a gift? I’m sure Daniel here could help you pick one out,” she said as she threw a small smile in Danny’s direction.

A few minutes later the three of them left the shop, books wrapped in brown paper under their arms the bell tinkling its merry tune as they resumed their trek up Threadneedle Street before turning into Bishopsgate.   
Finally, after a few minutes silent walk, Liz turned to Danny and gave him a slight shove, “What’s wrong with you?” she playfully growled, “You can chase a bunch of armed and crazy grey shirts but you can’t even ‘fess to the love of your life that you want to go on a date?!”  
Seilla burst out laughing, surprising both the constables, “So that’s what it was!” she sniggered, her mandibles flaring wide as she pointed at Danny, “You like Sarah!”  
Danny grumbled good naturedly about traitors and “she’s scary!” as she continued to snigger, Lizzy joining in as they finally walked up the steps of Bishopsgate Police Station.  
While the interior of Sarah’s shop had been cluttered and dim, the foyer of the Bishopsgate Police Station was light and spacious, potted plants and padded benches spaced around the room before the imposing row of desks, manned by men and women in the same uniform as Danny and Liz though without the helmets or armour.   
One man on the end looked a bit older than the others, his hair grey hair cut in a conservative style as he wrote in a massive book on the desk in front of him. As they approached him Seilla could see the book was full of names and times, with notes written beside each entry in a swirling, yet concise deep blue ink.   
“Ah, Callan and Smith,” the man boomed as he saw them, “And who do you have there?”  
“Afternoon Sarge,” smiled Danny, “Found Seilla here from the Turian delegation. Had a bit of a run in with some greyshirts but she was showing them a thing or two when we found her.”  
Seilla, who had been watching the sergeant closely, watched his eyes darken at the mention of her attackers. She flinched slightly has his brown eyes turned to her and seemed to pierce her.  
“Are you all right miss?”  
“Yes sir!” Seilla responded respectfully, “Danny and Liz have looked after me!”  
She noticed the sergeant’s bushy grey eyebrows arch at her apparent familiarity with her escort and mentally kicked herself. Before she could wallow in her thoughts though she was jerked out of it by the sergeant’s voice.   
“Right then,” he said, his voice adopting an officious, no-nonsense tone, “If you don’t have any questions miss, would you mind signing the book. After that Callan and Smith here will ask you a few questions and we can get you back to your parents eh?”  
Nodding, Seilla stepped forward and took the offered pen. She thanked the Spirits that human pens were almost the same as stylus back home as she wrote out her name in her best flowing Turian script.  
The sergeant thanked her and told Danny and Liz there were some “pastries” (some kind of bread?) in the kitchen.

Danny, who had perked up considerably at the mention of pastries, quickly thanked the sergeant and hurriedly lead the way to a wooden door set into the wall and scanned his omni-tool before unlocking the door and ushering Seilla and Lizzy through.   
Seilla was ushered into a padded armchair as Liz put the kettle on and Danny sat opposite her with his omni-tool out, scooping a golden-brown (and beautifully smelling) pastry out of the wicker basket on the table, his attitude all business (the attitude was upset somewhat by his request to Liz for a coco through a mouth full of pastry).   
“Now Miss Harranus,” he started formally as he began to record, “Would you please tell us how you got from St. Paul’s to the sight of the attack?”

An hour of questioning later and Seilla could see that no matter where in galaxy you went, law enforcement was always the same. Danny, while polite and caring, was able to extract the entire story from her (including her running off) with an efficiency that would impress her mother!  
It helped that Liz was there, even if she didn’t say much except to interject a question here and there. She offered Seilla a cup of boiled water (No one was willing to test if Turians were allergic to tea or not) which helped calm her if she got too wound up, especially about the attack. 

Once the questioning was over, and they were waiting for the Home Office’s skycar to arrive, Danny and Liz explained that the people who attacked her were part of a radical xenophobic groups called the Human Socialist Democratic Group or the Anti-Xeno League. They hated aliens and wanted humanity to rule the galaxy. Fortunately, they were frowned upon by most of humanity and were forbidden from forming a legitimate political party.   
“By the way,” asked Liz as the skycar came into view, “What book did you wind up choosing?”  
Seilla looked at Danny and giggled, “I told Danny I want something to show humanity’s true side and he recommended this,” she smiled hefting the brown paper package, breathing in the scent of age, leather, and paper. “Sarah told me that its almost three hundred years old, a collection of plays and stories by one Oscar Wilde.”

As the car doors opened and her parents came steaming towards her, Danny and Liz gave her their omni-tool details and as her parents thanked them both and returned with her to the car, Seilla was struck by the realisation that in one day she had seen so many sides of humanity, she had learnt the valuable lesson not to judge anyone by their species, but rather by their actions.


End file.
